


Dead Girl.

by 980502



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/980502/pseuds/980502
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because you couldn't really classify me as living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Girl.

I don't really know what it's like to be alive. Emotions just don't seem to come naturally to me. I see the world with glazed eyes and a stone heart. I guess you could say I'm dead; I'm certainly not living. Which is sad, isn't it? A poor, little girl, not knowing the joys of being alive. I guess that's why I am how I am. 

I haven't eaten in three days. My doctor says if I continue living this way I'll be dead by the end of the year. I told him I'm already dead, but he just grunted. I don't see the point in eating. It just comes out again anyway. It's not like I have an eating disorder; I just don't see why I need to put in such an amount of effort and money for something so temporary. The idea of eating is obscure; to me anyway. I do drink liquids though. I can process the concept of drinking liquids much more easily and I can handle liquids a lot better. 

My mother hasn't talked to me in a year, despite the fact we live in the same house. I wonder what it's like coming from a real household? My "friends" joke about me a lot, saying I'm going to become a mafia leader because of the family I'm from. It's entirely possible, though. I have the mentality to lead a mob. I have the authoritative voice to lead barbarians. All I need is presence and connections. I miss the days of bumping my head into the table corner, my mother consoling me, father laughing and telling me I need to be careful. Mum's been a downward spiral since he died.

That's probably when I started dying a little by little as well. I was six when he died. Shot in the heat twice at point blank. Died instantly. I was there. Loan sharks. I guess that's traumatized me for life. I miss him sometimes; he was a good dad and an even better person. He was my anchor in a stormy sea, as cheesy as it sounds. 

I don't know why I'm still here. I could easily jump out of the window and end it all. We live on the seventeenth floor of a run-down apartment, situated in an isolated part of town. Nobody'll notice if I jumped; especially my mum. She'd be passed out on the couch from too many brandy shots. 

But why would I jump? I'm not alive in the first place.


End file.
